Um, Where's Clint?
by Ezra Cross
Summary: Clint's missing. Getting blown out of the side of a plane over the Brazilian Rain forest has that effect. But who is responsible for the Avenger's crash landing? An old figure from Barton's past resurfaces, one that's slick as a shark and twice as deadly. It's going to take everything the Avengers have to get Clint back again, but will he let them into his world? I'mmmm Back...:)
1. Prologue

Well, it's been a long hiatus and I apologize for that! Now introducing: Dr. Ezra Cross. That's right, folks. I've graduated Vet School at last.

Here is a teaser to something new I'm working on. IT ISN"T DONE YET, but hopefully soon!

Special thanks to Icanhearthedrums and JRBarton for the assistance!

Side thanks to RG and AmyF for all the massive work they have been doing behind the scenes with me and launching the Nine Realms series to bookstores near you!

* * *

Umm…Where's Clint?

Prologue

The explosion rocked the cabin from left to right, ripping the Avengers off their feet and sending the entire team hurdling across the back deck. The Avenjet lurched nose first, dipped over to one side, and listed a hard right with the fiery explosion which enveloped the left wing. They tumbled. Alarm sirens blasted throughout the cabin, the lights flickered out, and then burned an angry red as the backup systems took over.

Banner flung sideways against the wall. The only thing that prevented him from a sudden Hulk out was the body he slammed into, shoulder-first. Thor wrapped his arms around the good doctor like an Asgardian safety harness. Where Banner went, Thor went. Not so lucky were the rest of the occupants. Tony had been standing by the hollo table. The sudden lurch threw him, knees over neck, in the same direction as Thor and Banner. Steve tumbled after him. The two of them hit a cabin cross beam, chest first, at the same time.

Natasha sat behind the controls, yanking them into something resembling calm airspace. Another explosion rocked through their left side, this time, it breached the cabin.

There were no words besides screams. No thoughts except shock, fear, and confusion. As Natasha yanked at the controls, Thor attempted to disentangle himself and fly through the breach so his brute strength might steady their thousand foot free fall. Tony and Steve had been sucked against the cabin wall at his feet from the sheer G-force of the spinning chunk of engineering.

No one saw it happen. No one noticed until it was over and Thor had blasted through the breach, grabbed their crippled wing, and guided the Avenjet safely to a clearing in the expansive forest below them. No one realized until Natasha turned around from the pilot's seat to inventory the injuries.

Clint Barton was no longer in the plane.

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let the cliffhangers begin...


	2. Chapter 1

**_Note to new readers:_** I am a talkative, open author and a while back I took a poll on whether people preferred private replies to their reviews, public replies at the beginning of a chapter, or public replies at the end of the chapter. The formatting below won out by a huge majority vote. So, if you hate wading through tons of comments, you have my sincere apology, and please continue on to the story and do enjoy!

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mafiabro : UPDATE! :) thank you for the review!

amy. .9: good questions! I guess we'll just have to wait and see how it plays out

The Red Fedora: I actually have a section of editing process set aside just for cliffhanger insertion

MO-5431: Always so polite! thank you for the review!

casualty the facts: hmmm Barney, Barney, well...just perhaps he is involve

jaguarspot: oh yes, I am evil like that

Unterflieger: bahahaha! I am a huge supporter of education...though that isn't to say i didn't spend a lot of class time writing this stuff:)

discordchick: I wanted to surprise you, and I have!

TheNaggingCube: What a love/hate relationship we have:)

Jesuslovesmarina: Not sure what the final title will be, but it's my working title for now. I simultaneously post and delete it from time to time on here as I arrange and rearrange chapters. If you want to be on a short list for beta-testing the layout, FB message me:)

Suse B: I can't help myself. a good plane crash is just what the doctor orders sometimes!

Lillehafrue: Thank you! and, I've got some surprises pulled out for this story for sure!

5mairer: Thank you for the congrats! Oh, i've published a bunch of stuff here and there. occasionally on Barnes and Noble, occasionally in local journals or magazines. Now that I have changed my author handle to Ezra Cross to protect my professional identity, I've ignored a lot of my early publication in order to build up the persona. this series, when it is finished, will be a million plus words of dear-sweet-lord. Already i'm topping 3-400,000 written and I haven't finished any of the first 4 books (out of 9).

Guest: thank you for the great review! so many questions unanswered!

* * *

 **Umm…Where's Clint?**

 **Chapter 1**

 _Manaus, Brazil._

 _Early that day_

The alley was hot, muggy, and smelled of old urine, filthy dogs, and sweaty men. The air was dense with the exhaust fumes pouring from the motorbike repair shop only a few multi-colored houses away. Converted from an old tiki hut and appliance store front, the motor park elicited all the latest gear for the tourist enthusiastic in 1995 Vespas. Clint Barton, the Avengers' Hawkeye, was not that kind of tourist.

He folded his arms protectively over his chest. Natasha had bought him a flamingo and leafy green Hawaiian shirt to "blend in". She'd be offended if he didn't wear it, and in an argument with the Black Widow, he was always wrong. So, there he stood in the midst of the April rainy season on the outskirts of a Brazilian city. The master spy in khaki pants, shades, and a flamingo shirt. Sometimes he hated his job.

Across the packed city street which boasted its ability to be a two lane highway (if the vehicles in those two lanes were 1995 Vespas), he could just make out the back of Natasha's head. She'd dressed for the part of Tony Stark's mistress. Expensive scarf, makeup made to murder mortal men, and a shoulder-padded suit jacket he gave her absolute Hell over. More than once he felt her eyes gazing back at him through the clamshell compact mirror she snapped open when Tony became too much to bear. He only smiled back, happy to be on the opposite side of the street.

Half a block away, Thor and Rogers attempted what Clint referred to as "blending in". Neither had much luck in that respect if one of the real spies weren't on their arm. Watching it all happen nearly made him laugh. He gave them easy parts to play. They were two tourists, on vacation, hostel hopping across South America. They took turns ducking in and out of the tchotcke shops which hawked reproduction Raybans and handbags. Steve actually bought something from a little Brazilian woman half his size. The lady was relentless.

Banner got invited to the tourist party, but he politely declined. This close to the rainforest, Bruce preferred to enjoy a little forest walking. No one could blame him. Though the Avengers hadn't needed the big guy for this particular op, Bruce Banner had been run ragged. Banner spent time in Manaus while on the run from General Ross and his goons back in the old days. If anyone could help get a bead on a guy running alien tech out of ex-SHIELD store houses, he could.

This was Stark's operation from the start. The team still hadn't found the missing Loki Scepter which instigated so many problems only a short time ago. Thor wasn't leaving Midgard without it and Clint didn't like the idea of that little piece of something hanging out in the wrong hands either. Ever since they started on the path of Loki's scepter, Clint had been staring at the world a little sideways. He wanted it off Earth no matter what he had to do.

Unfortunately, they weren't having much success. Tony seemed set. He had a different, silicone face, which gave Clint the willies to look at, and Natasha blended in with her blonde hairdo like the pro she was. Unfortunately, their buyer wasn't showing and Clint got antsy.

"I'm about to ditch this, buy a bag of weed, and go enjoy myself," Tony reported through his neck comm.

"I see Cap objecting to the purchase of mood-altering drugs," Clint smiled. He turned in place, glancing up the street at the stray brown dog giving him the stink eye. Not much farther up the alleyway, a group of youths stared at him from the safety of their stoop. They might be gearing up to give him a problem, but thus far they kept to themselves.

"If it mellows him out, or shuts him up, I'm all for it," Natasha put in.

Barton could hear Thor's laugh. A string of fast Spanish erupted behind him along with the hollow thwap of boney knuckles hitting hollow organs. Clint shifted out of the alley, into the open, and snapped his head back to see whether or not a fist was heading for him. The kids on the stoop were exchanging blows. The stray dog rushed them, barking and snapping as two of the six hit the ground, arm-locked with one another.

"What's that?" Steve demanded, overhearing the ruckus.

"Nothing obvious," Clint replied slowly. The fight could be that, a fight, or it could be an easy distraction for something worse. Given Clint's track record, he typically thought the latter.

"So are we bagging this?" Natasha asked.

"How many hours out are we?" Steve radioed.

"Two since the seller should have showed. We're wasting time here. I say let's recontact the guy and light him up with a little pomp and circumstance," Tony put in, standing from his corner table. He extended a hand to his date and Natasha slapped it away. She stood on her own, yanked off her napkin, and tossed it at him.

"The next time we do this, you and Clint are playing the couple."

"I am secure enough in my manhood to totally agree to that," Tony snapped back.

"I will completely accept a free meal," Clint replied. He could see Natasha's eyes roll.

Behind him the fight escalated. Two of the men hanging in the periphery decided to help duke it out on the ground. From the limited Spanish coming to him, Clint figured they were arguing over a woman or a dog. Potentially both.

"Clint, you butting heads with someone over there?" Steve asked. He had started to make his way closer to the rest of the group. Thor had been handed a chicken, three ducks, and a Louis Vuitton knock-off by a street salesman.

Barton cast a glance back. The combatants were making their way toward him. He needed to get moving if he wanted to avoid getting dragged into it. Flattening out the collar of the flamingo shirt, Barton headed left against the rush hour traffic. He'd parked the Avenjet three miles northwest in the midst of the southern edge of the Amazon rainforest. Thus far they'd been left alone in that wild environment, and hopefully that luck held out.

"Fight's heating up here. I'll meet you at the rendezvous," Barton radioed back.

"Copy. I'll get Thor."

Clint smirked, ducking his head as he disappeared into the crowd. "Tell him if he comes back with that chicken, I'm making KFC."

"Not even funny Barton."

"Sure it was, Cap, you just think that—"

.

.

.

.

Steve stopped in his tracks on his way back to Thor and tapped his hand against the collar of his shirt. "Clint?" he asked. "Your comm cut out. You want to relay that again?"

"He's probably picking up a beer," Natasha cut in.

"Clint, if you are getting a beer and don't get me one, we are no longer friends," Tony added.

For the Captain's part, he tried to ignore their bickering. He still had an entire flight to listen to them. Down the row of huts, shops, and ply board siding, Thor spotted him and began making his way over. He'd somehow avoided purchasing the living creatures the street seller shoved at him.

"Hey, guys, cut the chatter a sec. Anyone have eyes on Clint?" Steve said.

"I thought it was Clint's job to keep eyes on us," Tony quipped.

"He was heading back. Just ducked out of the alley on main and cut down against traffic," Natasha's more helpful answer relayed.

Down the street from Steve, Thor paused and straightened his back, neck craning to see over the endless lines of Rav4 super duties bumbling down the pot-hole stricken back roads. After a minute of searching, and Steve hailing over the comms, they came up empty. Clint was nowhere. A tickle sprang up on the back of Steve's neck. Something felt wrong. Steve nodded once at Thor and the two of them switched from tourists to search dogs instantly. They spread out, weaving their way between the gridlock road traffic to reach the opposite side of the street. Steve stayed a few yards ahead and together they moved forward.

Across the street, Natasha and Tony began to do the same. Natasha's shoulder-padded dress jacket came off and found a new home with a beggar tugging at her skirt. The scarf she left around someone else's neck, and she pulled a hair tie from her wrist to tighten back her dyed-blond locks. It wasn't often Steve had seen her perform that last step. It told him that she was taking this deadly serious. Tony checked the hands on his watch, tapped it once, and decided that indeed it was still linked with his Iron Man suit parked back at camp. Satisfied, he strolled along beside Natasha.

Cap reached the alley Clint had been stationed in initially and checked to be sure Barton hadn't moved back into it. Not only did he not find Clint, he didn't find anyone. Steve tapped his comm.

"Hey, weren't there a rough and tumble of people out here?" he asked.

"At least four by the sound of it, and a dog," Natasha replied.

"No one's here now."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Trap?" Cap asked.

"Everyone fan out. I want Clint found, now," Tony radioed. His tone turned sharp and calculated. When it came to Barton's safety, Tony had somewhat of a personal take on it. Six months before, the two men decided to drown their sorrows at a dive bar down the street from the Tower in New York. Three beers in, Tony insulted the guy sitting next to him, Clint began to laugh, and the guy pulled a .45. Clint yanked Tony off his stool without missing a beat and ended their night with a bullet graze in the side of his neck that should have ended up in Tony's skull. Quickly Tony's random acceptance of Barton's very existence shifted to loyalty.

Stark crossed the street, cut through traffic, slammed into the bumper of a car, and without complaint headed right passed Cap. He started talking before he'd even reached the other side. "Barton, pick up. Even if you're dead, you better say something."

Steve stepped up his pace and walked alongside him. Of the two, he was the tallest. It helped little at this point. He had yet to catch a glimpse of where Barton had disappeared too. Natasha stole across the roadway next. Within a minute, Thor caught up and the band of four spread like a wave of locusts. Steve ducked into every open doorway. Thor checked each ally. Natasha slipped among the crowd. Tony took it upon himself to begin abusing their radio comms.

"Hawk, you're freaking me out. Answer the comm now or else I'm going to blow up your—"

"Geez, chill," Clint said suddenly. Half a block in front of them, Barton stepped out of a shack with his hands laden in two plastic bags. His comm was off his neck and hanging loose in his pocket. He shrugged, smiling a lop-sided grin. "I just got all of us lobster dinners and cheap beer. So relax. If I'd gone missing, trust me, you'd know it."

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surrrreeee Clint...we all believe that's all you were up to:)

Next time: a Shark, A bazooka, and Bruce-Calm Down.


	3. Chapter 2

_sorry this took a little bit. My oldest cat became very ill and unfortunately I had to say goodbye to her today. Sometimes being your own vet isn't easy._

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Guest: Oh, clint. he has his movies for going solo:)

discordchick: I kind of want to write that little story about Clint and Tony. Hmm. Maybe in the future.

5mairer: I've been considering making long e-books from my avengers series for download. quite a few have asked about it (and...I sort of want them myself like that:). still, all the sites I've considered doing it through have had serious plagiarism problems so, as right now, I haven't found a method yet.

TraptWolf94: Thank you!

MO-5431: thank you! Happy you like it!

Batghost: Totally just free-ranging chicken and ducks. LOL. (i actually completely forgot about that scene until everyone reviewed how much they loved it:)

casualty the facts: New updates, order up!

mafiabro: Oh, the plans I have awaiting!

Unterflieger: hahahahaha. Hope you feel better now!

Laurie-Ylalen: Me To! I have no idea what's going to happen here...

jaguarspot: Thank you! As for an injured hawk, my eyes would grow the size of saucers and I would bounce up and down as if i'd been handed a 2-week old kitten. I worked with a couple owls in my clinical year and I literally could not even contain myself. As for actually treating a hawk- I would be calling up my best friend, a certifiable bird expert who graduated with me, and beg her for info.

Jesuslovesmarina: This story is sort of a "fresh start" arena. So it's still finding its place in the whole 'verse. The scene of the Rav4's is based on my real-world experience living in Grenada. the sea of Rav4's was utterly impressive.

tribute122001: Clint/Tony bros forever!

m klindt: oh, the blow ups will be NUMEROUS:)

* * *

 **Umm…Where's Clint?**

Chapter 2

A scream ripped through the cabin. Steve Rogers slid precariously away from Tony's body beside him. He took sharp, shallow breaths and held an arm across his battered chest. Something was fractured in there, just how bad, he wasn't sure.

Tony rolled onto his side in the space Steve made for him and continued to pant, scream, and sweat in his shoulder. He writhed on the bottom of the cabin and hovered his hands over his left knee. "Oh my God," he whispered interspersed in his four letter strings, "Oh my God. Holy S-. It's busted. Oh, God, it's busted good."

"My—yeah my—chest—my," Steve gasped. He sat on his hands and knees, his chest on fire from the beam him and Tony both had been thrown into. Just across from him, a figure filled the breach in the plane's hull. Thor surveyed his teammates.

"Who can I help?" Thor asked in concern. He went to the mobile Banner first and helped get him to his feet.

"I'm all right, I think," Banner replied, pulling out of his arms. He made his way to Tony and leaned down again. Tony grabbed his arm instantly and held on for dear life.

Thor slipped down beside Steve and inspired the captain to roll onto his side. Steve's arm was laying at a strange angle and, until now, the Captain hadn't even noticed. Breathing had become more important. With Steve in Thor's lap and Tony struggling against pain, shock, and everything else, Thor lifted his head to the front of the deck. Natasha cut her way out of her safety harness and flopped to the floor on a set of legs that felt like jello.

"Are you intact, my friend?" Thor asked her.

Natasha grabbed the back of the pilot's chair for support and nodded her chin. "I think so."

"What happened?!" Banner demanded, looking around him for any answers. Rows of blank stares turned back to him.

"Something hit us," Natasha finally said.

"Like what?! A bazooka?"

"Bruce, you've got to calm down a little—"

"I AM CALM!" Bruce shouted.

From her pointed expression in his direction, he realized that in many ways, he'd begun to cross a very important line. Taking Natasha's advice before he Hulked out and destroyed the rest of the deck, Bruce began to relax. He took one deep breath and released it slowly from his nose. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm just a little in shock _from the plane exploding in midair_."

"I get it." She cast a glance around the back cabin at the wreckage. "I just didn't think they'd go through with it."

Banner head snapped back up. "What?"

She swallowed, continuing to scan the cabin. "He told me and I just . . . I didn't really believe him. I couldn't imagine they'd go that far."

"Nat, what are you talking about?" Steve tried to sit up but the sharp pain that sliced through his sternum sent him right back against Thor's chest.

Natasha moved away from the captain's chair and bent down beside the overturned holo table. She righted herself, looked around, and glanced behind Thor.

"Are you saying you knew something about this and didn't tell us?" Bruce asked.

Still, she searched, around and around the cabin she turned, but found nothing of what she looked for.

"Natasha!" Steve snapped.

"Um," Natasha looked back at them, her face pale, "where's Clint?"

 _:(:):(:):_

 ** _Outskirts of Town, Brazil._**

 ** _Early that day_**

Clint walked ahead of the others after handing his acquired goods off to Cap and Thor. His hands were in his pockets, head tucked in around his popped up Hawaiian collar, and he walked in a relaxed slouch as the troupe sauntered back to their jet. Natasha strolled beside him, tossing occasional glances in his direction. Something felt off, and she knew it from the moment he cruised back to them with his comm stuffed in his pocket.

The multi-colored houses in their squashed little rows finally faded away with the rest of the town. Slowly the encroaching rainforest overtook the roadway. What was paved, albeit poorly, gave way to the packed in dirt highway and occasionally rows of wooden planks spreading down separate paths. Chopped down trees, their fresh white cores exposed, showed the deforestation at its finest.

Ever since his escapade down the street, Clint hadn't spoken very much. He ignored Natasha's eyes watching him and focused on leading the team back to Banner and the waiting Avenjet while, behind him, Tony had already broken out the first bottle of beer. Apparently he had no plans of piloting them back home.

Unsatisfied with his lack of conversation, Natasha demanded, "What is it?"

Clint continued to march. He showed little evidence of having heard her and even less attention to their surroundings. His mind tumbled internally like a rolling thunder cloud. Natasha decided to snap him out of it. She punched him, not hard, but with enough of a knuckle in the sensitive point on his bicep to generate an instant response. He snapped away from her and held his offended limb out of reflex.

"What gives?" she said before he had a chance to punch her back.

Clint's mouth opened, then shut again. He turned away and said with a simple shrug, "Tony drank the beer I want. A Carib. It's the worst tasting beer I've ever had in my life, but it reminds me of the time I spent on this crappy island off Venezuela." He looked over and tried to flip her a smile. Apparently, Natasha wasn't buying it.

"You were gone for six minutes. Your mic was off. Who did you talk to? Did you find the seller on your own?"

He blinked at her. Half a second later, he pulled his attention away from her and continued walking, this time with a more determined stomp. He picked up his pace a measure and made some distance between himself and the three at their backs.

Natasha caught up to him in only a few strides. "What happened? Why didn't you just signal me?"

"It's worse that that," he whispered.

Her expression changed. "Worse? What then?"

His face turned strangely dark, eyes narrowed. "You remember Budapest?"

Natasha stopped walking. Her hand reached out to grab his forearm and Clint paused. Her eyes searched his face as if trying to decide whether he was kidding or not. His grim expression didn't change.

"Hawthorne?" she asked.

Clint nodded sharply.

"Why didn't you say something? Is that the buyer Tony lined up?"

The archer pulled his arm free and the two of them started forward together before the rest of the team could catch up. Already, they were attracting undue attention. It was understandable that Clint wanted to avoid the inevitable conversation with the rest of them. Budapest hadn't been easy on Natasha or Barton, but most of all, Barton. The mission started out as standard protocol. Walk into an arms deal smuggling illegal Stark tech, neutralize the threat, recover the armaments, and walk out again. Then they met the figurehead known as Jackson "Shark" Hawthorne and everything went belly up.

Clint had history with him. How much, Natasha didn't exactly know, because he never shared it. The arms deal was a front meant to smoke Clint out. Shark's plan worked. Natasha found Barton five days later after a firefight, an explosion, and a near career-ending injury. Clint came limping back to SHIELD, never mentioning what it was he went through, let alone why. Now, Hawthorne popped back on their radar all over again. What the man was thinking going after one of the Avengers, knowing that Clint had an entire super-hero team behind him, Natasha couldn't begin to understand.

While Natasha stewed over the development, Clint went on, "I saw him in the market."

"Hawthorne?!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, him," Clint grumbled. His hands were hanging loose by his sides. Anyone might think he looked relaxed, but Natasha knew him better than that. He was ready to swing if he had to.

"What are we going to do?"

"Get the Hell outta Dodge," Barton replied.

"Why?! You're on a team with the incredible Hulk, why are you still running from this guy?"

Barton stopped in his tracks. His finger lifted, angled in her direction, and stabbed the air between them. "You have _no clue_ what that guy can do. None! So don't sit there and try and tell me we can take him with this screwed up family of ours!"

Shocked at his sudden hostility, Natasha raised her hands in supplication. "Geez, Clint, take it back a notch. I'm not the enemy here. What did he say to you?"

Barton spun away from her and, shoulders hunched, marched for their ship. Natasha watched him go. It wasn't long before the rest of the team settled beside her and after that display, there was nothing she could say to ignore the happenings.

Steve nodded in Clint's direction. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah. He's just sick of being here," Natasha replied without missing a beat. Clint's secrets belonged to him, no one else. He didn't have many of them, and the ones he did, he played close to his chest. If Barton didn't want to go ahead and face this demon from his past, then she wasn't going to force it.

* * *

hmmmmm, what a development!

so, who is the Shark? What happened in Budapest? And how could he have enough pull to spook an Avenger? Stay tuned and find out!

Next time: One-shot, Exploding Arrows, and Half-Cocked


	4. Chapter 3

Had a few life changes recently making quick-posting difficult if not impossible. rest assured, this story will be finished, eventually. though it may take a VERY long time:)

Thank you to all the reviewers/favoriters/followers! Here are a few shout-outs:

WestonFollower: Thank you for the reviews and the constant support!

AvengerOfFiction: thank you so much for the kind words. Oh, i like to start my stories out with a bang. Don't worry, we're going to get pretty deep here.

casualty the facts: Shark...stark... we shall see:)

5mairer : you know, I hadn't quite decided whether its clintasha or claura. for now, its neither, and i'll see what happens

mafiabro: that's a really sweet idea. I think i will. thank you!

horselover1315: from me who once posted an entire 13 chapter book in a single day, to not updating for MONTHS, sorry!

* * *

Chapter 3

"What do you mean, ' _Where's Clint'_? He was in the plane with us. He was sitting right over there!" Bruce straightened up, craning to look around the cabin. Thor released Steve and began overturning the tossed-about equipment.

"Wha—what—what's—" Tony chattered, shaking as he continued to support his battered knee. Bruce set him to one side and assisted Thor and Natasha. They called Barton's name, searched the plane a hundred times over but despite all of their work, they came up empty. Clint wasn't in the plane, and if he wasn't inside of it . . .

"He fell out?" Bruce whispered in disbelief. "Did anyone see him? Do we know where he fell?!"

"What do you mean . . . he fell . . . out?" Tony demanded, struggling to right himself.

"I'll check outside," Thor said, disappearing with Natasha hot on his heels.

A four letter word slipped from Steve's mouth. He tried to stand up and instantly slipped back to the floor. The numbness in his arm began to wear off and the pain that swept in took his breath away. He released another string of words . Had Tony been in a more clear-minded view, he would have called the captain out on his foul-language.

"Cap? What's wrong?" Bruce asked leaning closer to him. In front of him, Tony tensed instantly and yelped.

"Arm . . . broke arm . . ." Steve sputtered. "And ribs . . ."

"Hold it out a second, lemme look at it."

Steve carefully removed his good hand to display the shielded limb and instantly Bruce's face skewed.

"Yeah, that's broken. Don't move it. Are you breathing all right?"

"No."

Bruce shook his head and took a deep breath. This was about the worst situation he could conjure for the team and he still had no idea why it even occurred to begin with. Let alone the fact that Tony had a serious leg fracture, Steve was broken in two or three places, Clint was missing. Almost as soon as he sat to consider the reality facing them, Thor reappeared.

"Friend Banner, you should see this."

A sinking feeling dropped into his soul. He waited for Thor to come closer and take over his position supporting Tony and looking after Steve before he pushed to his feet. He headed out of the hole in the side of the plane and dropped through the jagged-edged of sardine-can steel. Natasha stood on the far left by the black smoldering turbine on the right wing. He approached cautiously, ducking beneath the sparks and electric fire burning above his head. Natasha nodded forward.

Bruce followed her line of sight to find the one stray object out of place among the burned out engine, the crater in the side of the plane, and the tossed-up cabin. A single, black, arrow shaft stuck fast into the plane's hull. A cord, high tensile grade, dangled from the end of the shaft, trailed beneath the belly of the plane, and ended at a starburst of busted line in Natasha's hand. Bruce took the snapped end and considered it.

"He got an arrow off. He didn't even have his bow in his hands when we were flying, I don't know how he did it," she said.

"Clint's resourceful," he admitted. "Think he survived it?"

"He always survives stupid crap like this. I don't know how he gets himself into it, but he always gets himself out of it again."

"I don't think he planned to get blown out of the side of a moving plane, Natasha."

She shrugged.

"If he has his equipment, can we track him?"

"Maybe. Depends on whether the software's still running in the mainframe or if the entire system crashed on impact."

"How long will that take?"

She shrugged again, glancing around the dense jungle they'd crashed into. "Be faster with Stark working on it and not me."

Another scream emerged from inside the jet. It sounded like Stark at first, but given neither of them had ever seen the Captain get so banged up before, it could have been either of them. They doubted Tony would be up to the task of helping them track Barton down, leaving it up to Natasha and Banner.

"Fine mess of crap this is." Bruce's eyes narrowed at the Widow and he said with increasing hostility, "You better start telling me exactly what's going on in all this! What does Clint know and how in the Hell that—" he jabbed his finger in the direction of the hole, "happened and you better start telling me right now, Natasha, because I'm getting angry."

:(:):(:):

Tree.

Tree.

Tree.

Ill-placed branch.

 ** _SNAP!_**

He felt the cord pull taught, one strand after another fraying until with a metallic **_ping_** , it completely detached.

Sudden, radiating pain to the three sensitive bits inhabiting his nether region.

Curled in a ball, head-first, tumbling through mid-air.

Utter free fall.

Hands burning, tearing, as they grabbed blindly out to slow his fall.

Stale beer mixed in stomach acid burned the back of his nostrils.

 ** _SLAM_**!

Air exploded out of his lungs. His head snapped forward and just as fast snapped back to impact the forest floor. One boot flew off. Bow snapped in half, the string becoming a flinging projectile that sliced its way across the grass like a weed whacker. An arrow hit the ground not far away. The forest exploded in a flash of red and white.

Barely conscious, Clint Barton rolled breathlessly onto his side and scrambled on his belly as far away from the fire as possible. Four trees creaked. Another massive **_SNAP_** , and suddenly Clint found himself fighting to his feet.

 _Run_! he screamed to himself.

On his feet, lunging head-first through the unfamiliar terrain. Trees, bushes, scrub brush clung against him. A strip of flesh tore away from his cheek. His knee buckled. Lungs burning, muscles threatening to give out from under him, Clint used the adrenaline that a free fall through unfamiliar airspace gave him. He struggled away from the blast just as two Amazon mahogany trees destroyed his impact site and set off the five other exploding arrowheads that leaked from his pocket.

Clint knew how to run. How to turn his brain off to everything that didn't matter and lunge headlong away from whatever chased him. He knew how to completely vanish. How to assess his environment in just the amount of detail he needed to not run into enemy hands while simultaneously saving his own hide. Only this terrain was as unforgiving as a woman's bra.

He dropped. The ground opened up unexpectedly at his feet and the height of the rainy season created a mud slick fit for a water park. The washout carried him down into the valley and off the hill crest he'd landed on. His full-tilt velocity slowed only with the addition of rocks, stumps, and full sized boulders crashing into him. After half a minute of pin-balling his way down the slope, the ride finally stopped and his next freefall started.

His hands wind-milled.

Water rushed up at him.

Feet-first he landed into the flooded out basin Clint swore he'd seen on an episode of Naked and Afraid. Only he wasn't as lucky as those cliff-divers. He landed in a five foot puddle with rocks on one side, a cliff wall on the other, and two beady-eyed caiman snapping and hissing from the only remaining shore. His legs jackknifed up his pelvis, a crack alerted him to a potential new fracture forming, and before the caiman had a chance to shimmy over, he was already scaling the rock wall.

Twenty feet of slate, three snakes, and one indignant parrot was what tribulation Clint suffered to drag himself up and over the edge of the wall. He grabbed fist fulls of dirt and roots. He rolled onto the flat ground. His eyes gazed straight up.

"Ow," he groaned and shifted his weight off his belt.

He glanced briefly down at his feet, noted the missing shoe and frayed white sock. It was flecked in blood from his crushed big toe nail. He set his head back again and let himself simply relax. It was the worst decision he made since the minute he stepped into that corner cafe after the man he knew as "Shark" Hawthorne. Stopping meant getting stiff, feeling that pain his adrenaline had so far kept in check. He realized all at once that he'd fallen out of a jet. His team had been attacked in mid-air and literally blown up. He'd fallen out and nothing but the grace of his occasionally good reflexes saved him from being dead. How were the others? Where were the others? Tony wasn't in his suit, anything could have happened to him. Bruce likely Hulked out. Natasha was piloting, at that proximity to the forward glass, she could have been cut to ribbons.

Clint balled his fist and slammed it against the ground. Hawthorne. Why the hell'd it have to be Hawthorne? Why hadn't he vetted the buyer himself instead of letting Stark go off half-cocked? Clint would have slammed his fist down a second time if he hadn't hurt after the first. As he sat and inventoried the myriad of injuries that would, not doubt, plague him until the moment he dragged himself out of the jungle, his mind drifted back.

Two dozen years of ancient history swam passed his eyes.

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Poor Clint:)

Next time: Polk County, Kentucky and a bearded lady.


	5. Chapter 4

I hope everyone enjoyed the little Aside (little...20chapters of "little) over with "Orphans". Now back to your regularly scheduled programming...

Thank you to all the reviewers/favoriters/followers! Here are a few shout-outs:

m klindt:oh, a vengeance all right:)

jaguarspot: that will come next for sure...as in the next chapter...not this one...lol:)

Batghost: hahahahaha. i love this guess!

Jesuslovesmarina: your description of my colorfulness made me have the biggest smile and laugh ever! I truly apreciated it!

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Chapter 4

 _Polk County, Kentucky_

 _25 years ago_

"I only said you could come with us if you promised not to be a little snot-head, bugger-face!" the older, ruddy haired brother hissed through two overgrown front teeth. His eyes, as blue as the National Geographic pictures of Caribbean water, narrowed severely at the boy beside him.

"We've been standin' here for an hour!" his younger, tawny-haired brother groaned. He threw his head back, sending his lamentations straight up to the half-moon hanging close to the world above them.

"I never said it'd be fast! Now shut it, Clint!"

"You shut it, _Chaz_!"

Charles "Barney" Barton took a hostile charge toward his decidedly younger brother, sending Clint reeling a few paces to avoid his back-hand. He tripped over a roll of trapeze rope and landed on his behind. Seeing the yelp spur from his lungs, Barney threw himself on top of Clint, smothering him against the grass. He threw a shifty eye around the shadows to see if anyone had caught onto their presence. So far, they remained undiscovered.

"Stop being so careless, you klutz!" Barney seethed at him. He scrambled to his feet and yanked Clint harshly up after him. "You want us to get caught? You want Fat Jim to find us? You want Carson himself to slip out of that ivory trailer and make you walk the high wire?"

Clint hurriedly shook his head, stemming the tears forming in the corners of his eyes from the smack into his tail bone. Barney didn't threaten him with the high wire act very often, and even less with a show from the carnival owner, Carson, himself. Anybody who met Carson in the flesh was libel to be found in the tiger cage the next morning. It was how the circus life went.

"Then clam up!"

Two knocks, followed by a pause, then three additional knocks resounded off the sideboard above them. Clint's ears perked up instantly. Barney let him go and clambered back to the straw car. He undid the outer latch and, checking over his shoulder, slid the door open. An older menagerie boy filled the doorway for only a moment before he hit the grass on his heels and dashed across the shadows. Barney crammed his bucket hat down over his head and hurried after Jackson Hawthorne. Not to be left out, Clint struggled to keep up.

Straw danced through the air like a comet trail out of Jackson's shirt. The dark-skinned child gave a single, triumphant leap over the back rails and hurried up the little planks that separated mud from the costume frock hems in the heavy Kentucky rainstorms. The Barton brothers caught up with him outside the old toothless grizzly cage. The bear was pawing at the back of Jackson's shirt. Fearlessly, the boy swatted him away.

" 'id-you get it? Huh? 'id ya?" Barney whispered hurriedly dropping onto the grass across from him.

Clint brought up the rear. He set his hands on his knees and panted heavily.

"Did I get it? I said I would! I always get what I want. Let it be a lesson to ya. Jackson Hawthorne gets just what he wants!" he boasted. Jackson pulled open his dirty grey top and let the glittering pieces of jewels pile out in front of them. Two cars ahead of the straw car, where Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders kept the animal feed, was the costume car. A rumor milled about that somewhere in there, Carson himself hid the real jewels. Things that he only gave out to the fancy folk who came calling on him in the private car he kept right before the caboose. He liked riding way in the back. Kept him far from the sounds the engine made.

Jackson Hawthorne was an orphan before the Bartons ever arrived at the boys' home. He knew the ropes. He knew that staying in the back-wood, dead-end side of Waverly, Iowa led to ruin and stifling death while a chance to hop trains and tame big cats meant life itself. He was older than Barney by a whole year. A black child raised by a single mother on the west end of Waverly, he had a rotten tooth already, three yellow ones on the bottom, and always wore a loop of t.v. cord for reasons he didn't say. He knew his father, a white man, but the man was dead.

Barney leaned over their pile of gems and lifted one that he liked. A ruby, six sided and more brilliant than the sun itself. It glittered in the moonlight over their heads. "Sweet frog spit. Look at that! Is it real?"

Hawthorne snatched it back. " 'course it's real! I said it, didn't I? You two with heads like boulders just squintin' at it, not believin' me. Well take that and stuff it. I got it, so the loot's mine."

"That's horse crap and you know it! I boosted you up into that car and I broke the lock too! You wouldn't have gotten near it if I wasn't there, now stop being a hog!" Barney made a grab for the gem, but Hawthorne put a fist out and strong armed him away.

The two boys wrestled across the grass and took turns dunking each other in the mud puddles from the last rain storm. Clint only watched them for a moment. He stooped down by the pile of stolen jewels and lifted one of the strings. The pearls lay like silk against his palm. He squeezed one, more out of curiosity than anything else, and suddenly the entire pearl shattered in his hand.

 _Paste_ , Clint realized. Even he knew what the stuff looked like, he'd seen it around the circus as often as he'd seen elephant dung. So much for the dreams of glory a jewelry heist brought them. So much for those grand ideas of buying their way into some New York penthouse and leaving the world they knew behind. Hawthorne led them on a goose chase as fake as the legend of the costume car gems.

"What's going on here?" A voice boomed suddenly.

Clint's back shot up as straight as a ramrod. He didn't wait to turn around. Instantly he leaped to his feet and ran blindly away. A pair of hands grabbed him from behind, yanked him off his feet, and before he knew it, Miss Aggie Brown, the show's bearded lady and weight lifter, had hauled him up over her shoulder. Clint's eyes darted around for Hawthorne and Barney. The boys had skittered off and left him to his fate.

"Is that my baby boy out here in this night air?" Miss Aggie demanded. She leaned forward, real low. Her bosoms shifted together like two colliding bowling balls in the sheaf night dress. Her hand, the size of a dinner plate, scooped up the treasure trove the boys had plundered from the costume car.

Clint wriggled, kicked, threatened to scream, but Miss Aggie only rolled her shoulder and sent the meaty muscle up into his gut. He pitched forward with an _oof_ , and stopped his complaining. If anyone discovered his participation in the caper gone wrong, he was fortunate it was Aggie and not Carson, the Fat Jim, or anyone else.

Miss Aggie started across the back lot, treasures in hand. A stiff wind blew down from the animal cars and forced Clint to bury his face in his hand. Miss Aggie lived with the four-hundred-pound man in the stable car behind the elephant wagon. She always smelled like rich straw and musk from the big bull elephant, though no one told her as much. Clint had once watched her lay out a heckling man three times her size with a right hook so precise, three of the man's molars shook loose. It was a hard way to learn that Miss Aggie didn't care for men who laughed at her beard.

The four-hundred-pound-man was out this evening. He often shacked up with Eloise, the show's resident card reader and fortune teller. Miss Aggie carried Clint up into the car, dropped him onto the pile of mattresses stacked on the old pallet boards, and slid the door shut. She crossed to the vanity pushed against the opposite wall. With her toe, she pulled the frayed cushion out from under it and sat down creakily. Her hand opened and spilled the paste jewelry contents onto her table.

Clint sat up on the mattress pile. Most of them were flat or full of springs poking through the threadbare fabric. In traditional carney style, nothing got thrown out. More mattresses were piled on top of old ones, hoping to alleviate the discomfort. He had to admit, it was better than what he had in the stock wagon.

Despite the smell of the place, a mixture of elephant, sweaty bodies, and rotting wood, Miss Aggie did a remarkable job carving herself a home. She was a main attraction, after all. Posters of her famous, two-foot long beard preceded the Circus in every town they visited. A few of her prettier pieces were posted around the vanity in startling color quality. Bright yellows, deep purples, all offset by the shockingly red dress that an Italian designer had custom sown for her reflected off the hand painted advertisements. Over time she'd moved up from just the bearded lady. The world was getting weirder every day and having a single gimmick didn't pay the bills. So, she began working out. One year later she put on a hundred pounds of pure muscle and had enough strength to lift the center tent poles. Beside Miss Aggie, only the elephants could do that. Clint Barton didn't fear her, per se. He knew a woman like that could snap him in half. He respected her enough to keep his distance and never dared poke fun at the long whiskers on her face.

"Little baby boy. Run off and join the circus like all those others out there for fame and glory. Now, I see you taken the other path." Miss Aggie stared at her reflection in the mirror and removed one, long, eyelash at a time. For a woman looking the way she did, her voice was as sweet and elegant as a burlesque dancer. "You know what that stage boss does to little baby boys who steal his things?"

Clint swallowed tightly. A shot of cold water dropped down his spine.

Miss Aggie turned to him. "You have a voice, darling. Use it."

"S—sorry. Sorry, Miss Aggie," Clint stammered out.

"Do you have something to say for yourself, baby boy?"

Clint took a few frantic steps forward. He grabbed the corner of the vanity table and gouged his nails into it. "But, it wasn't just me! Barney and—"

Without waiting for him to get the words out, Miss Aggie wound up and smacked the child, hard, across his face. Clint had no reaction. He didn't look shocked, reel away, or burst into tears. Physical punishment taught him hard lessons already in his life.

"Do you have a brain?" Miss Aggie demanded.

Tight-lipped, Clint nodded once.

"Can you think on your own?"

Another hard, sharp nod.

"Then don't you ever come out and say that you did something wrong, but it's not your fault because some other boy talked you into it. That means you're weak. That means you're influenced. That means Clint Barton isn't worth the time to help if he isn't going to help himself." She grabbed the first full of jewelry and shoved it under his nose. "You want to go to Carson himself and tell him you stole this worthless junk and watch him feed you to the wild cats? Well do you?"

"No," Clint growled.

She threw the pieces back on the vanity and watched the strands break, the pearls spilling around the mirrors reflection. "You can be a smart boy. You can do whatever you want to do. Hell, you can ride off and join the circus if you want. But don't you ever go on and let someone else talk you into trouble you've got no business being part of. It isn't worth it. Even if those pearls were real, it isn't worth you getting yourself killed for them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

The vinegar filling his veins slowly ebbed out of him. The flashbacks of utter hatred for that hand that came after him, the same hand his father used to beat him, his brother, and his mother, all began to fade under the verbal lashing Miss Aggie game him.

She saw the change too. Her big hand rested over his, dwarfing him with the size of it. "You're just a little boy without direction. Gets boys like you into trouble all the time. I don't care if the one convincing you to do stuff like this is your own brother. You are your own man. Don't let anyone control you like that. I'm going to put a talk in with Jacques and get you doing something productive before you wind up cat chow."

"The Swordsman?" Clint asked, surprised at the sudden turn this night took.

"That's right. And if he doesn't do something with you, then maybe I'll get Buck to step up."

"Trick-Shot?"

She smiled at him. The whiskers of her mustache curled up. "Now, baby boy, you know I've been around those two for going on ten years. I don't call them those silly names." She turned away from him and proceeded to remove the second long row of eyelashes that had thus far gone neglected. "In the meantime, I'm going to put you to work, baby boy." Miss Aggie lifted up a worn leather purse and shoved it into his chest. "They're making these make-up brushes smaller and smaller every year. Like ladies think that makes them feel thinner. I keep snapping them in half. I need someone to help me fix my face before the shows start up and you're going to learn that right now."

Clint opened the purse and found two handfuls of brushes, various compacts, cake eye shadow, and a slew of other feminine wiles he had never before beheld. "This is make-up!" He exclaimed, instantly repelled. Boys didn't play with make-up. Barney would call him a wuss the minute he heard Clint held a tube of lipstick!

"Yeah, it's make-up, and it's what a circus is built on, bones, broken backs, and good foundation. I'm going to turn you into an artist. That talent will get you far in this carney world, baby boy. Buck and Jacques, they get to turn you into a man. You heed what Miss Aggie tells ya. If your brother or that boy are getting you into trouble you steer clear of 'em. That little shark-tooth was trouble long 'fore your Barton boys ever decided to show up here. I knew Jackson's momma. I know what I'm sayin'. You keep away from that boy, now."

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This is one of my favorite chapters i have ever written of any book.

Next time: I have no idea...i haven't written it yet:)


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